


Felix in Wonderland

by AbhorrentSelkie



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alice in Wonderland, Character Study?, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Pre-Time Skip, no beta we die like Glenn, this isn't a crackfic I promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24296626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbhorrentSelkie/pseuds/AbhorrentSelkie
Summary: There were only two explanations that he could think of, neither of them anything short of impossible. One: Glenn was secretly alive, and had decided to hide that fact from his family rather than returning home. Or two: the man was an impostor wearing Glenn’s face… for some reason.  Neither explanation accounted for the rabbit ears and tail.Either way, Felix wanted answers._________After waking up, confused and alone in the aftermath of a battle, Felix follows a strange man with his brother's face down a well and finds himself in a world where everything is familiar but nothing makes sense.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 19





	1. The Man with the Pocket Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix wakes up alone and injured on an empty battlefield.

It was supposed to have been an easy battle. The professor brought them out for training, fending off a pack of bandits from a small Galatea village near the Alliance boarder. They found very quickly, however, that the estimates of the bandits’ numbers had been a bit… short, to say the least. The Blue Lions held their line as best they could against the onslaught.

And Felix found himself somewhat cut off from the rest of the class. He gritted his teeth and dug his heels into the mire as he fought, refusing to give an inch, even while enemies seemed to come at him from all sides. It was easy to lose himself in the familiar flow of battle, let his muscle memory take over for his brain. A dodge here, a parry there. The brief resistance of armor before his blade cut through leather and flesh alike. He paid little mind to the bodies that gathered at his feet.

He could faintly hear the professor shouting orders, trying to maneuver Sylvain and Ashe around the mass of bandits so they could back Felix up. He just had to hold out until they got there; he’d been in worse spots.

A sudden pain wracked through his body and he dropped to his knees, sinking into the earth turned muddy with blood. Struggling to draw in breath through the pain, he managed to glace over his shoulder, where an enemy mage had managed to slip forward and get the better of him. He could hear his name being shouted, though by who, he couldn’t be sure.

Any thoughts of pushing through the spell that coursed through him, of fighting past the pain evaporated when his shaking hand lost grip of his sword and it fell uselessly to the ground. The edges of his vision grew dark, and before he could raise his hands to brace himself, he fell face-first into the muck. He was going to die in some random stupid field to some random stupid bandits. His eyes fell closed and the sounds of the battle faded away.

Felix didn’t expect to open his eyes again.

But he did. He was still laying face-down in the mud, and his chest still ached from the spell that had hit him. He didn’t move; if his enemies had thought he was dead enough to not finish him off, he wasn’t going to give them a reason to change their minds. Through the fog in his mind, he slowly realized that something was… off.

He laid there a moment, trying to place what it was. He strained his ears, listening for the rage of battle, but all he could hear was the whisper of the wind. That was it. It was silent. No ring of steel on steel. No shouts, no screams of the dying. No clop of hooves. Nothing at all.

With a groan, Felix managed to push himself to his knees, ignoring the pain that flared through his body. He wiped the mud off his face and took a look around. The signs of battle were evident around him. The ground was still engorged with the blood of the slain, all greenery trampled by the hooves of the cavalry. Broken weapons littered the field, abandoned when they were no longer useful.

One thing was missing. _People_. Felix was entirely alone on the abandoned battlefield. His classmates, the professor, the Knights… all were gone. There were no bandits, either. And, more than that, no _corpses_. The signs of battle scarred the earth, but there was no trace of the combatants that had clashed there. No tents. No horses. No wagons. Nothing.

Felix pushed himself to his feet. His hair, at some point, had come loose from its knot and flitted around his face in the gentle breeze. It looked like early evening, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink where the sun descended on the horizon. He tried to wrap his head around the situation. It would have taken at least a day for all the corpses to have been dealt with, had the Blue Lions won. If the bandits had overpowered them, they would have looted their corpses and equipment, and left their bodies to rot. Even if Felix had been believed to be dead, his classmates wouldn’t have left his body laying in the dirt and abandoned him. He would have been sent back to Fraldarius to be buried, like… he swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat at the thought.

He supposed he could have started for the village, tried to find out what had happened, tried to get back to Garreg Mach. Or, at least, seek lodging for the night.

Before he could make up his mind, the sound of an irritated huff behind him drew his attention. He reeled around, hand instinctively reaching for the sword that was not in its sheath, but on the ground.

About fifty feet away, a man stood with his back to Felix, staring down at a pocket watch. For a wild second, Felix thought the man was his father, with the same inky black hair that fell in waves to his shoulder. It took Felix a moment to register the fact that the man had, inexplicably, a pair of black rabbit ears sprouting from the top of his head, and a matching cotton-y tail poking out from the back of his trousers.

Felix scooped up his sword and started toward the man. “Hey,” he called. “Who are you? What’s going on here?”

The man spared Felix a bored glance over his shoulder and the boy’s heart nearly stopped. There was no mistaking the piercing blue eyes and slight downward turn of his lips. The face staring back at him was Glenn, as impossible as it was.

“Hmph,” Glenn sighed, closing the pocket watch with a snap that seemed unreasonably loud. He stowed it back in his pocket and stared walking without a word to Felix.

The boy stood, dumbfounded, watching him go. There were only two explanations that he could think of, neither of them anything short of impossible. One: Glenn was secretly alive, and had decided to hide that fact from his family rather than returning home. Or two: the man was an impostor wearing Glenn’s face… for some reason. Neither explanation accounted for the rabbit ears and tail.

Either way, Felix wanted answers.

He bolted after his brother. “Glenn!” he called. Glenn’s pace was unhurried, even as Felix raced after him. No matter how fast the boy’s feet carried him, he seemed to gain no ground, however. Felix puffed and panted, gritting his teeth through the pain in his chest.

Glenn came to a stop at an uncovered well not far from the edge of the battlefield. He stepped up onto the stone that was built up around it and spun around, regarding Felix as the boy finally seemed to start drawing closer. Unconcerned, Glenn pulled out the pocket watch once more.

Felix wasn’t close enough to make out the details of the watch, but he had a pretty good idea already. The Royal Guard all had pocket watches that bore the symbol of their order, the backs engraved with the name of the knight who owned it. They were meant to be part of their formal dress uniforms, but many of the Royal Guard carried them around as a point of pride. Glenn had been no exception. His watch had been one of the things that had returned from Duscur in lieu of his body, the top scorched black, the bottom stained red with blood, the glass face shattered. The last time Felix had seen it was along with a broken sword, a shield split in two, and half a breast plate... as the lid of Glenn's casket was shut.

The bunny-eared Glenn glanced up at Felix, sharp eyebrow arched, and held up the pocket watch. He tapped on the glass pointedly, as if to warn him of the time. Felix was so close, just a few feet away. Glenn took a step back and plummeted into the well.

Felix managed to stop himself against the well, chest heaving. It was pitch black down the hole, and Glenn had already fallen from sight. He waited for the splash that would follow, but it never came. “How deep is this damn well?” he huffed under his breath.

He needed answers. He didn’t have any clue what was going on, and the man who looked like Glenn was the only person he’d seen since waking up. Heedless of the potential danger, Felix vaulted over the side of the well and let himself fall into the void.

Felix seemed to fall forever. He expected to be plunged into complete darkness, but light seemed to follow him as he went down, down, down. The brick-lined walls of the well gave way to dark, damp earth, the loamy smell of the dirt almost overbearing. As fast as Felix fell, it was hard to make out the things that protruded from the dirt. With nothing better to do, he focused his attention on the shapes as he plummeted past.

Most of them seemed to be weapons. Rusted swords, broken arrows, halves of lances, dulled axes. Now and then, Felix caught sight of yellowed bones and cracked skulls with bits of rotted flesh and withered hair futilely clinging to them. The sight rolled Felix’s stomach. He was, of course, no stranger to the dead, but the ones he saw were usually fresh and mostly intact. Seeing pieces of long-decayed corpses scattered along the impossibly long shaft of the well, seemingly swallowed by the earth itself… It was unsettling.

He was very suddenly reminded of the stories he was told as a child – as all Kingdom children were told – of the underworld. Those who died with regrets, trapped in limbo, desperately trying to claw their way back toward the light. He glanced up, the fading orange daylight no longer even a pinprick above him from how far he’d fallen. A chill ran down his spine. If these corpses were digging their way up from limbo, what would he find when – _if_ – he reached the bottom?

No, that was stupid. However the rotting remains found themselves embedded in the wall, it had nothing to do with old superstitions. Those were just stories meant to frighten children. Behave, or you’ll be trapped in the earth for all eternity when you die. Ridiculous.

Fatigue fell over Felix in gentle waves. He tried to fight it; if he was going to shatter against the bottom of this impossibly deep well, he at least wanted to be awake to see it coming. But, slowly, his eyelids began to droop, and Felix managed to fall asleep.

Felix dreamed of home. In general, Fraldarius was somewhat of a harsh bit of land. It spent about a third of the year frozen and miserable, like much of the Kingdom. Most of the rest of the year was spent under dreary gray clouds and relentless torrents of cold rain. However, late summer brought with it a small reprieve in the gloomy weather, a gap between the endless rain and the coming freeze.

During these times, in his childhood, Felix would soak up the sun like a starved flower. Sylvain and Ingrid and Dimitri would visit – or, else, he would visit them – and they would explore the flat plains that stretched around Castle Fraldarius, the Fraldarius ancestral home, more fortress than anything. Often, if he wasn’t busy with his training or knight duties, Glenn would accompany them.

Felix woke from his dream with a fleeting feeling of warmth and contentment. Before he remembered where he’d been when he dozed off, and realized that he was still, somehow, falling. He huffed, crossing his arms. More than anything, the endless fall was beginning to piss him off.

But nothing was endless, as he soon discovered. No sooner had he thought that he might just fall until he starved to death, he hit the bottom. The fall was hard enough that it knocked the wind from him and sent pain shooting through his chest from his earlier wounds. He struggled to breathe for a moment, flat on his back in a pile of scratchy cloth, mostly just amazed that a fall from such a great height hadn’t killed him on impact.

When he managed to push himself up, he realized that the pile of cloth he’d landed on seemed to be scraps of rotting, tattered clothing. The smell of mold and mildew was oppressive. Many of the grotty garments, he noticed with some disgust, were stained with blood long-since turned brown with age. He wondered if someone long ago had simply dumped the clothing of slain enemies down the well rather than bothering to burn them.

Felix stepped out of the pile and took a look around the bottom of the well. There were no more decayed body parts embedded in the walls, which was a plus. The bunny-eared Glenn was nowhere to be seen, but it was apparent there was only one way he could have gone; the circular chamber led away down a dark, crudely dug hallway only just taller than Felix. His mind was still reeling at the impossibility of the whole situation, but he shoved the thoughts away. If he dwelled on them, he’d just drive himself crazy.

Instead, Felix pulled out his sword, took in a deep breath, and started down the dark corridor. It twisted and turned through the earth almost aimlessly. This way for a while, then that, and back again a moment later. Felix could see only a few inches ahead, and more than once nearly ran face-first into the crumbly dirt walls when they suddenly veered off in a different direction. He stumbled over the uneven floor, feet catching on protruding chunks of rock or twisting into small holes that threatened to send him sprawling.

After what felt like hours, but could have just been minutes for all he knew, the tunnel began to widen. The ground leveled out some, and wooden supports lined the walls at regular intervals. Turns became less sporadic, more intentional. Dirt gave way to rough-hewn gray stone, then eventually to intricately crafted red brick.

Light at the end of the tunnel stung Felix’s eyes, and he raced for it, the floor no longer an obstacle that forced him to be careful and slow. The corridor opened into a wide chamber. The floor was tiled in a black-and-white check pattern, like a chess board. The walls here were made with massive gray brick, decorated with lush red velvet curtains. Elegant white doors with glittering gold doorknobs lined the walls. Felix counted twelve in total, four in each of the three walls that faced the tunnel.

In the middle of the room, a small waist-high glass table was set for tea. There were no chairs set around it, nor anywhere in the room. The light scent of fresh tea lingered in the room, and Felix could see delicate wisps of steam curling out of the fine tea cups.

Felix didn’t really give a damn about tea. He set about the room, checking each door in turn. None of them would open, all locked. In frustration, he tried to ram his shoulder against the last door to force it open, but it wouldn’t budge no matter how hard he threw himself at it, leaving him with nothing but a sore shoulder to show for his effort.

With a huff, Felix turned his attention to the table. If someone had set up afternoon tea, clearly that meant they would be back, right? Maybe if he waited, someone would show up who could explain what the hell was going on.

Felix’s stomach grumbled as he looked at the assortment of cakes and cookies that were laid out on a platter. Ugh, of course it had to be sweets. He was about to bite into one anyway when a silver glint caught his eye, peeking out from under a white napkin. A small key, far too small for any of the doors’ locks, more like the kind that belonged to a desk drawer.

Something else stood out, once he focused his attention on the details of the table. A small glass vial sat in the center filled with some strange sky blue liquid. A red ribbon was tied around the vial’s neck, holding a tag cut from thick paper stock. _Drink me_ , the tag insisted in fancy, loopy cursive.

Felix scoffed. As if he would be so stupid as to drink an unknown liquid just because it told him to. Ridiculous. Still, curious, he picked up the bottle and turned it over in his fingers. The liquid glimmered in the dim light – which, Felix realized, seemed to have no discernible source. It was as if someone took the most brilliant shade of blue from the sky on the clearest day of summer, scooped it into the vial, and put a stopper in it.

Curiosity compelled him to pull out the cork and take a whiff. It had an almost floral smell. At the Academy, they’d had a few lessons on identifying poisons, and Felix recalled that one of the signs was the scent of almonds. He dabbed a finger in and took a small taste. There was no bitter aftertaste, as they’d learned many poisons had.

Before he realized what he was doing, Felix knocked the liquid back. It tasted like… summer. Sweet, perhaps, but not unpleasant. It was cool on his tongue, but a gentle warmth started to spread from his stomach out, until everything from his ears to the tips of his fingers and toes were warm and relaxed.

He almost didn’t notice, at first, the way the table seemed to grow. His brow furrowed when he realized it went from waist-high to reaching his navel. And it didn’t stop. Panic flooded through him, and for a wild moment, he thought the room was growing around him.

No, that didn’t make sense… he looked back at the vial, now about the size of his palm as it sat in his hand. The room wasn’t growing, _he_ was _shrinking._

The table was at shoulder height. Trying hard not to panic, Felix grabbed on to the edge, hoping that his weight wouldn’t tip it over. It proved to be surprisingly sturdy, as a moment later, his feet were no longer touching to floor and he was clinging to the edge of the table for dear life.

As he got smaller and smaller, his grip on the table got harder to maintain. The edge dug in to his underarms, and his feet kicked against the air as he tried to pull himself up. A small voice in the back of his mind worried that he was going to keep shrinking down and down until he was nothing more than a speck of dust.

As quickly as it began, however, it stopped. He was still clinging to the edge of the table, panting with the effort it took to keep himself there. Slowly, he managed to drag himself up and over the edge. As soon as he was on solid… tabletop, he laid back and squeezed his eyes shut, legs still dangling over the edge, letting the adrenaline work itself out of his body.

After a moment, he sat up. The chess board floor seemed so far down it was dizzying. If he had to guess, based how he could have stuck his arm through one of the gaps in the delicate lattice of the table’s white metal frame, he would have placed himself at about ten inches tall. He was used to being short, but this was just ridiculous.

While he sat there, trying to figure out what to do, one of the doors opened and Glenn stepped through. “Hey!” Felix called, waving his arms desperately. Glenn didn’t so much as look in his direction. “Glenn! Get back here!”

If Glenn heard him, he didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, he walked over to one of the velvet curtains and pulled it aside. A small door, maybe fifteen inches tall, was hidden underneath, set. Besides it’s size, it was identical to all the other doors. Glenn pulled a vial out of the pocket of his waistcoat, filled with the same brilliant blue liquid Felix had let himself drink like an idiot, and downed it without a second thought. Before Felix’s eyes, the rabbit-eared Glenn shrank down to about the same size as Felix and stepped through the tiny door.

A loud _click-clunk_ echoed through the room, the unmistakable sound of a door being locked. Felix huffed, shoulders sagging. He had the feeling Glenn was intentionally avoiding him, though why, he couldn’t figure out. All Felix knew was that he needed to get off the table, and he needed to get through that door.


	2. Braided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix is surprisingly good at braiding

Felix glared down over the edge of the table. If he’d been his normal height, he would have guess it was at least a twenty foot drop onto solid tile below. Something in the pit of his stomach told him that whatever had stopped him from becoming paste on the bottom of the well wasn’t going to save him if he decided to jump off the table.

Running a hand through his tangled hair, he turned to take stock of what he had available on the tabletop. It was set for tea, so there was no shortage of delicate china cups that came up to his hip, saucers he could have slept on, and pastries big enough to use as chairs. The empty vial of the blue liquid he’d drank like an idiot came up to his knee, the ribbon around it more like a rope.

A rope… Of course, the ribbon wasn’t near long enough to reach, but maybe he could make a rope. His eyes fell on the thick white napkins that were set with each cup of tea. It would take an insanely long time, but he could think of no better way off the table.

With sigh, he pulled out his sword, dragged the first napkin to the clearest spot on the table, and started the arduous process of cutting and tearing it into even strips. From the strips, he began braiding a thick rope that would hopefully be sturdy enough to get him to the bottom. Felix was good at braiding, his nimble, calloused fingers deftly twisting the strands tightly into shape.

His mind wandered as he worked, back to long-gone days in the Fraldarius summer sun. _“Why do I have to braid your hair, Glenn?” he complained, fingers clumsily working through his brother’s long, soft hair. The older boy's hair was nearly half way down his back, and he kept it pulled up in various styles most of the time. It might have almost looked girly, especially with Glenn's slender build and sharp facial features, but something about it just seemed to suit the knight-in-training._

_Glenn laughed, sparing a side-long glance over his shoulder at his brother. The motion pulled the hair from Felix’s grasp, and the whole braid began to fall apart immediately, with as badly woven was it was. “Braiding is an important skill,” Glenn insisted. “You never know when you’ll need to fashion a rope. It may save your life, someday.”_

_“Uh-huh,” Felix huffed, running a brush through ruined weave,_ _frustrated that he’d have_ _to start again._ _He’d been at it for what felt like hours, and it was on his fourth attempt._ _“I think you’re just being lazy.”_

_“Oh, you do, do you?” Glenn challenged, the smirk still apparent in his voice. “Those sound like fighting words, Felix.”_

_“I’d rather fight than do your hair,” the boy grumbled._

_“I_ _f_ _you insist_ _,” Glenn agreed easily, pushing to his feet and pulling his hair back with a length of leather cord before scooping up one of the wooden training blade they carried around with them. It was a common sight to see the boys sparring,_ _be it training, sport, or to settle petty argument_ _. “Arm yourself, Felix.”_

 _Felix scrambled for his own wooden sword. “If I win, I never have to d_ _o_ _your hair again,” he announced, taking his stance._

 _“Deal. When I win, you’ll stop being a whiny brat and let me teach you.”_ _Felix nodded, focused and determined. Glenn was clearly not taking it very seriously, but he never held back, not even against his little brother. They moved without hesitation, parrying and thrusting and blocking and ducking. It wasn’t a long battle, just a few minutes before Felix was sprawled out on the grass, disarmed, with the point of his brother’s training blade at his throat. “Looks like I win again,” he laughed, tossing the sword off to the side and hauling his brother up. Felix scowled, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes. “Now, sit down, shut up, and braid.”_

_By the time Glenn was satisfied, the sun was sinking low in the sky._

When Felix shook himself out of the memory, the braided rope had reached an impressive length in no time at all, coiled around him neatly. He stood, stretching out his sore limbs, and tried to gauge the length of the rope versus the height of the table. He decided it was probably pretty close, and if not, he could always pull it back up and add more.

Almost as an afterthought, Felix took a length of scrap napkin and used it to tie his hair back up into its usual knot. All set to go, he carried his rope over to the edge of the table and laid down on his stomach near the ledge. The delicate lattice of the frame would serve well as an anchor point, and Felix very carefully tied one end to the frame with the sturdiest knot he knew, suddenly very thankful the Professor insisted on holding a seminar about wilderness survival the moon before that had included a very thorough lesson on knots.

After giving it a hard yank to make sure it was sturdy, he threw the length of the rope over the edge. It plunged down, coming to a stop not far off the ground. Less than five feet (well, proportional to five feet, anyway) off the ground.

He was about ready to start his descent when the silver gleam of the key he’d noticed before caught his eye. The little key, much too small for any of the doors in the room… any of the _normal_ sized doors, that was. Perhaps it would be the right size for a _small_ door. He picked it up. If anything, it seemed like it might have been too big for such a small door, reaching from fingertip to halfway up his forearm, but it was better to take it to be sure than leave it behind.

He decided it would be best not to simply dump it over the edge; it could bounce or slide off anywhere if he did that. And there was no way he was climbing down the rope holding it. Instead, he worked the knot that held the ribbon on the knee-high vial. He wound the ribbon through the hole at the top of the key and tied it securely around his chest. The key knocked against his hip, but he could live with that.

With nothing further to do on top of the table, Felix started climbing down. It truly was a long way down. About a quarter of the way, his muscles began to ache in protest of the strain. Felix gritted his teeth against it. His own strength was the only thing stopping him from becoming a smear on the floor below. He took his time, breathed deep, and kept inching his way down.

When he reached the end of the rope, his feet dangled a ways off the floor. Felix braced himself and let go, landing on his feet to absorb the impact and ignoring the painful jolt to his knees. He’d made it down. He panted, leaning doubled over while he caught his breath. A sheen of sweat clung to him, sticking his uniform to his clammy skin.

Once his breathing evened out, Felix stood upright and turned toward his next objective: the door. From the ground level, it looked to be miles away. He huffed in frustration, swearing under his breath. Who knew how long he’d spent on damn table. It was going to take hours to march all the way across the room to the door. If Glenn wasn’t already impossibly far ahead of him, he certainly would be by the time Felix made it to the door.

But it was the only lead he had. Felix started walking.


	3. Duty and Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix encounters a couple familiar faces as he nears the door.

Felix was exhausted. His throat was parched and his stomach grumbled loudly. He’d been walking for what felt like hours, the door still infuriatingly far away. While he was no stranger to long marches along side knights on long campaigns where their enemies were far off, those were never made alone. One was never far from a mouthful of trail rations, or a water skin passed from person to person. Walking would be done in shifts, broken by a reprieve in the back of a cart or on horseback.

Even before the walk to the door, Felix had made the trek through the dark tunnel and climbed his way down the rope. He cursed himself for not taking the time on the table to fill his belly on the pastries that were available; even a stomach full of sweets was better than an empty stomach. Stubborn, Felix tried to tune out his weary body and forced himself on.

 _His father barely said a word upon his return from Fhirdiad. He’d dismissed Felix’s probing questions, promising to speak with him later, sending him to wait in his room. Felix paced while he waited, anxious and scared. That had been the mood that lingered in the air of Castle Fraldarius for nearly a week, ever since word arrived with news that…_ something _had happened in Duscur. Duscur, where Dimitri and Glenn had gone on a diplomatic trip with His Majesty._

_It was nearly sundown when a soft knock on his door came, just a moment before it opened slowly without waiting for an answer. His father stepped in,_ _looking haggard with his_ _shoulders sagged. The dark circles under his eyes were more prominent than usual, his dark hair unwashed, the stubble on his chin several days past overgrown._

_“Felix,” he said softly, putting his arm over Felix’s shoulder and guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed. His father sat with him for a long while, silent, just staring out the window at the sky painted bloody by the sunset._

_“What happened, Dad?” Felix asked, breaking the heavy silence. “In Duscur?”_

_Rodrigue drew in a deep, world-weary breath. “His Majesty’s convoy was ambushed by Duscurian insurgents.” A knot formed in Felix’s stomach, tight and painful._ _The man put his hands on Felix’s shoulders, whether to comfort Felix or to steady himself, the boy wasn’t sure._ _“They… Felix, I’m sorry. His Highness… Dimitri was the only survivor.”_

_Felix felt like he’d been plunged into a lake in the middle of a Faerghus winter, impossibly cold and numb, breathless and drowning._ _The words didn’t make sense. They sounded like nonsense coming from his father’s lips._ _“But… what about Glenn?”_ _he demanded, voice shaking._ _Rodrigue didn’t answer, eyes falling closed. Anger welled unbidden in his chest and he rose to his feet. “Dad, what about Glenn?”_

_His father’s eyes were misty_ _when he opened them again_ _, and he looked like he’d aged ten years in the week he’d been gone, but he drew himself up, looking at his son evenly. “I am truly sorry, Felix._ _Glenn was killed defending His Highness.”_

_Tears prickled in Felix’s eyes as his father’s words washed over him. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to call his father a liar, insist that a mistake was made, that Glenn couldn’t be dead. He didn’t know what he wanted to do._

_His father grabbed his hands, squeezing them tight, perhaps seeing the anger and confusion and grief that swelled under the surface. “Felix, I know it’s painful, but you have to try to understand. Glenn was a knight of the Royal Guard. It was his duty and honor to serve His Majesty. He knew what that meant when he swore himself to serve his country, even if that meant laying down his live in service of the Crown." Each word spoken in the past tense felt like a knife plunged into Felix's chest. "He died like a true knight.”_

_Something inside Felix broke then, in that moment. With those six words._ _Felix wrenched free of his father’s grasp, reeling back like he’d been slapped. “_ _That’s bullshit, and you know it,_ _” he shouted, the tears beginning to streak down his cheeks. “Screw honor and duty. Screw Crown and country. How could you say that like it makes h_ _is death_ _okay?”_

_Rodrigue sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Felix, I understand how you feel-”_

_“Get out.”_

_“Felix-”_

_“Get out!” he shouted, stomping away. His hands were balled into tight fists, shaking uncontrollably. “_ _Just l_ _eave me alone.” Without another word, Rodrigue stood and showed himself out. Once the door was closed, Felix crumbled to the floor and, one last time, he cried._

By the time Felix made it to the door, his legs were trembling slightly, stomach rumbling painfully, and he felt like he’d swallowed a handful of sand.

The door, with its elegant golden knob roughly the size of a pearl on one of the necklaces his mother wore to galas and political dinners, was probably about fifteen inches tall, if Felix had to guess. The lock that was set into it under the knob, however, was almost comically big in comparison. Any worry that the key he’d brought would be too big was banished at the sight.

Felix was beginning to pull the key off when a small sound froze him in place. “ _Shh, shh_ ,” he barely heard someone hiss. “Be quiet or he’ll hear us.” He glanced around, confused. Even from his place so close to the ground, Felix could see the whole room with ease. There wasn’t anyone else around, big or small, and there was certainly no where to hide.

He scanned the wall along the door with narrowed eyes and noticed a spill of soft light from beneath a section of the velvet drapery. Hand falling on the hilt of his sword out of reflex, Felix edged closer, hunger and thirst momentarily forgotten. As he drew closer, he could hear scuffling and further prompts to be silent.

Felix ducked under the curtain. While he wasn’t sure exactly what he expected, it wasn’t the small alcove that was crudely carved into the trim. Small candles dimly lit the space, throwing long shadows over sparse, ramshackle furnishings sized for dolls. Two beds covered with patchwork quilts were placed in either back corner, and from under each them, Felix could see two pairs of large, scared eyes. “Er… you’re not hiding very well,” he told them, bewildered. “I can see you.”

One of the hidden ones squeaked, pressing farther back into the shadows under the bed. “Go away,” the other ordered, bossy and shrill. A girl, if he had to guess. “ _You’re_ not welcome here.”

“I won’t hurt you,” he huffed, letting his hand drop from the hilt of his sword a beat later.

“A likely story,” she scoffed. “Go away.”

Felix sighed. “Gladly.” He turned to leave, but a grumble in his stomach stilled him. He sighed, crossing his arms as he regarded the eyes once again. “Look. I promise, I really won’t hurt you. But I need something to eat, and some water. Help me, and I’ll leave you in peace.”

“Just make him go away!” the one who’d yelped before cried, and Felix guessed that one was a girl as well.

“Fine,” the first girl grumbled. “I’ll help you, then you leave.” Slowly, she crawled feet-first out from under the bed. Felix reeled when she stood to face him. The shock of pure white hair was unmistakable, though she was slightly different than how Felix was accustomed to seeing her. It was undoubtedly Lysithea von Ordeila, one of the student in the Golden Deer house.

This Lysithea was taller, coming up to Felix’s eyes rather than his shoulder. Her face was somewhat more slender, the roundness of youth smoothed out into gentle lines. The curves of her body had filled out as well, more defined and feminine. Rather than the Academy uniform he was so familiar with, she wore a fluttering purple dress over white tights, her hair gathered back in a veil. Her eyes, however, were disconcerting. Once so full of fire and determination, now they were cold and calculating as they glared at Felix.

“Lysithea?” he muttered, trying so hard to work out in his mind what was going on. “What happened to you?”

She sneered at him, pushing past to rummage through a poorly-made cupboard. “As if you don’t know.”

“I don’t,” he protested.

“Hmph. What, am I so inconsequential to you that you can’t even be bothered to remember what you did?”

“What I did?”

“And I suppose you don’t remember what you did to Bernie, either.”

He glanced at the other bed, where a soft whimpering was now emanating. “Bernadetta?”

“Don’t kill me, Felix,” Bernadetta plead.

“Why would I kill you?” he huffed. Neither of them answered, though Lysithea made a disgusted noise as she shoved a small loaf of bread and a cup of water toward him, stalking away once he took them and sitting on her bed with a huff. He started eating ravenously, putting his questions on hold for a moment while he filled his stomach.

“There,” Lysithea said the second he swallowed the last of the bread and chased it down with a final gulp of water, “you’ve had your fill, now leave.”

“Will one of you please tell me what I supposedly did to you?” he demanded, putting a hand on his hip.

“Oh, it’s not something you’ve _done_ ,” Lysithea amended. “It’s what you’re going to do, some day.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. How can you be mad at me for something that hasn't happened?”

Lysithea carried on as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’m sure you will just be following orders,” she mused, flippant, “nothing personal.” Her eyes suggested it, whatever it was, was anything but impersonal. “I won’t forget what you’re going to do, Felix Fraldarius.”

“Fine,” he huffed, setting the cup on a lopsided table and turning to leave, “don’t tell me.” He hesitated once more, sparing a glance over his shoulder at them. “One last thing.”

“If you must,” Lysithea sighed, resting her chin on her hand and scrutinizing him.

“Have you seen a man come through who looks… like me, but not?” She arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “He has rabbit ears and a tail, and a pocket watch.”

Lysithea shrugged. “Have you seen anyone like that, Bernadetta?”

“Um… I think… I think he was headed to Court.”

“Court?” Felix asked. “Where’s that?”

Very suddenly, Bernadetta scrambled forward again, her big, scared eyes blinking up at him pleadingly. He could just make out the ends of soft purple hair. “Please, Felix, please don’t tell her we’re here.”

“Tell who?”

“Her Majesty,” she muttered, voice cracking and trembling. “Don’t tell her. I-I-I don’t want to go back.” She started sobbing, eyes brimming with tears. “Bernie doesn’t want to fight anymore.”

“I won’t tell her,” he snapped, frustrated at the seemingly nonsensical conversation he'd found himself in. 

“Please, please,” she continued pleading, “don’t… don’t... don’t kill me, Felix.” Everything that followed was incoherent babbling. Lysithea stared blankly at the wall ahead of her, as if Bernadetta wasn’t wailing and Felix wasn’t still incredibly lost.

With a sharp sigh, Felix ducked back under the drape and returned the door, Bernadetta’s sobs following him as he went. The key turned easily in the lock.

Felix was blinded with bright daylight as he stepped through the door into a small garden. Ants the size of mice marched dutifully past in even rows between flowers that towered like trees over him. A small path wound its way away from the garden, a small sign marked with just a neatly-carved heart pointing down it. Setting the key down behind him – and wondering what kind of stupid door locked from the _outside_ – Felix started down the path.


	4. Mushrooms and Mist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix finds a giant mushroom.

The path that led through the garden seemed to span endlessly in either direction, bordered on both sides by trees like mountains in the distance. The bright, cheerful sun filtered through the canopy and spilled dappled light over the tight-packed dirt road. Though he could no longer hear Bernadetta’s cries, they rang in his ears regardless. _Don’t kill me, Felix_. And Lysithea’s cold, harsh eyes. _I won’t forget what you’re going to do, Felix Fraldarius_.

Felix rubbed his temple, frustrated and confused. The stale bread sat like a rock in his stomach, and his ribs thrummed with a dull, pounding ache from his wound, pain lancing through his lungs with every breath. He’d had worse, but not by much. Still, he had to keep moving. What other choice did he have?

The sun was getting high in the sky, warm on his shoulders. A sheen of sweat began to cling to his skin, so accustomed to the cold of Fraldarius at this time of year. Felix unfastened the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling them up to his elbows. It didn’t help much.

As Felix was considering ditching his vest, a splotch of bright color amid the monotonous green foliage that lined the path caught his eye. Near the edge of the road, a massive red-capped mushroom grew, and Felix could just make out the shape of a figure sitting atop it.

Curious, he approached. The mushroom stood just over his head, and he couldn’t get a good look at the person sitting on it. They didn’t seem to notice him, their back facing away from the road. Felix took a few steps back, getting a running start before leaping up to grab the edge of the mushroom. His nails dug into its spongy cap as he scrabbled for purchase. It took some effort, but he managed to claw his way up after a moment.

The person didn’t turn to face him, though they had to have noticed him by now; he huffed and panted as he climbed, and his movements set the mushroom jiggling lightly. There was no mistaking the mop of blue-green hair sitting serenely in the middle of the cap. “Professor?”

“Felix,” the professor’s monotone voice replied. Felix walked slowly, circling the professor, his steps bouncing a little with the springiness of the mushroom. “You’ve come a long way.”

“What’s going on?” Felix demanded, crossing his arms, now face-to-face with his teacher.

“You tell me.”

“I don’t know,” he snapped. “You left me alone, injured on the battlefield, and then I saw-” He cut himself off, scowling at the ground. The professor just cocked their head, eyes blank and contemplative. “Nothing here makes sense.”

“Maybe you’re just over-thinking it.” Felix glared. “What are you looking for, Felix? Why are you here?”

“I’m looking for my brother.”

“Your brother?” The professor leaned their chin on their hand, considering it. “Isn’t your brother dead?”

Felix’s chest tightened painfully. “Yes. But I saw him… kind of.” The professor didn’t speak, just stared unblinkingly. “He looked like my brother, I mean, but he had rabbit ears and a tail.”

“Curious.”

“I was told he was headed to Court, but I don’t know where that is.”

“I see.” The professor’s eyes were far away for a moment. “Continue down this path. You will get there.”

“Right. Thanks.” Felix turned to leave, lowering himself to the edge of the mushroom.

“Felix,” the professor called after him before he dropped down, “if you are headed to Court, use caution. I would hate to see you get lost along the way.”

“I’ll be careful,” he huffed.

“Take a piece of the mushroom,” the professor instructed. “Perhaps it will help you later down the road.” Whatever _that_ was supposed to mean. Regardless, he broke a piece off the edge, and stuffed it in his pocket. “And don’t forget my questions. Why are you here? What are you looking for?”

“I already answered your questions.”

“I’ll leave you with another, then: what is it you want?” The professor was being even more difficult to figure out that usual, and Felix found himself fed up with it. He hopped down and continued down the path.

He thumbed at the piece of the mushroom cap in his pocket as he walked, wondering what it could possibly help him with. Weren’t brightly colored mushrooms usually poisonous? Though, he doubted the professor wanted to poison him, so maybe it would be safe.

Gradually, and then all at once, Felix realized the ground under his feet was shaking, violent tremors threatening to send him sprawling. An earthquake? Arms wobbling as he tried to maintain his balance, Felix managed to cast a glance over his shoulder and found the source of the quaking; a horse the size of a house was barreling toward him. Felix sprinted to the edge of the path, getting out of its way before he was trampled.

The rider of the horse gave him pause. Through the blur of movement, Felix could see a crown of golden hair. Considering he’d seen no one but people he was familiar with – strange as they were – Felix found himself certain he knew who the riders was.

“Ingrid,” he bellowed, loud as he could muster as the horse drew near. “Hey, Ingrid, stop!”

The rider pulled back on reins, urging the horse to a stop and glancing around with a brow furrowed. This Ingrid, like Lysithea, was familiar and foreign to Felix all at once. Her hair, once so long, was cut short, what length remained braided tightly and pinned up and tied with green ribbons. She wore a gleaming breast plate over a pale green tunic, a green cape clipped over her shoulder. Felix realized, belatedly, that she was riding a white pegasus, not a normal horse.

“Who’s there?” she called, pulling Luin off her back slowly.

“Down here,” he called, waving his arms.

Her eyes fell down, down, down, until she finally saw him. She blinked, confused for a moment, before a bubble of laughter escaped her. She hopped down from her pegasus, returning Luin to her back, and knelt in front of him. “Felix, is that you? You’re-”

“Don’t you dare,” he spat.

“-even shorter than usual.”

He felt his cheeks burn, and he crossed his arms, huffing in indignation. “I’m taller than you,” he snapped, stamping his foot like a petulant child.

“Not right now, you’re not.” Grinning, she grabbed him around the middle. He struggled in her grasp, pounding his tiny fists against her monster hands. With a laugh, she finally relented, dropping him into the palm of her other hand. “Why are you so little?” she wondered.

“I drank some blue potion and it shrunk me,” he admitted, sulking in her hand. He was the size of a child’s doll, and Ingrid was having way too much fun with that fact. “I don’t know how to get back to normal size.”

She cocked her head, humming thoughtfully. “Maybe there’s something else you can drink that will fix it. Or maybe some kind of medicinal herb.”

He was just about to retort that he had no idea where to find something like that, when he recalled the professor’s words from before. _Perhaps i_ _t will help you later down the road_ _._ Scowling, he dug the chunk of mushroom out of his pocket. “I swear to the Goddess, if it’s that simple…” He bit into the plump red fungus flesh. It was earthy, pungent and bitter.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Ingrid yelped, and he realized he no longer sat comfortably in the palm of your hand about half a second before he fell hard to the ground, the wind knocked from his lungs. Ingrid stood, taking a step away from him and staring in shock as he grew before her eyes. By the time he stopped growing, he came up to her hip, half the mushroom still clutched tight in his fist.

“Aww,” she cooed, “you kinda look like a five-year-old.”

With a glare, he crammed the rest of the mushroom in his mouth, struggling to chew it down enough to swallow. Once again, he sprouted up and up and up. When it was done, he was taller than her once again, the top of her head coming up to his eyes. “Finally,” he huffed, stretching his newly grown limbs and muscles.

“Aw, I kind of liked being taller than you.”

“Too bad.” He stared at her, and for a moment he hesitated before he asked the question that burned on his tongue. “Have… have you seen Glenn?”

He expected her lips to tug down, expected the sad look she always got in her eyes whenever Glenn was mentioned. Instead, she just said, “Not for a while.”

“Of course not,” he huffed. “He’s dead.”

She cocked her head to the side again. “If he’s dead, what does that make us?” Felix hesitated, not liking that implication very much. He touched a hand to his chest, still tender and aching. “Are you looking for him too?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I… I thought I saw him. I’ve been following him.” His brow furrowed as her words fully dawned on him. “Why are you looking for him?”

“I’m always looking for him,” she said, casually, as if it should have been obvious. “When I find him, he’s going to be so happy to see how hard I’ve been training for him.” Felix sighed. He was no stranger to the way Ingrid held Glenn up as the shining standard of virtue and chivalry. This didn’t go unnoticed by Ingrid however, who crossed her arms and fixed Felix with a hard stare. “Oh, sorry, I forgot who I was talking to. Honor and chivalry might not mean anything to _you_ , Felix-”

“I don’t have time for this nonsense,” Felix huffed, cutting her off. “I was told Glenn is heading to Court, but no one will tell me exactly where that is. Will you help me or not?”

Her green eyes were like ice as she turned away from him and climbed back up into her pegasus’ saddle. “Find it yourself.” She spurred the beast on, its pearlescent wings unfurling, and without another word, she took to the sky where Felix couldn’t hope to follow.

He cursed after her, and kept walking.

_Felix wasn’t surprised to find Glenn sitting on along to shore of the small pool that was nestled deep in the forests that bordered Castle Fraldarius to the east. When the weather was warm, they would spend hours swimming in the silty water. It was too chilly for that at the moment, however, the sky slate-gray and a cold mist falling over them._

_Glenn sat on the damp grass, sifting through the dirt for smooth pebbles before casting them as hard as he could. They skipped over the shallow water in long, graceful arcs, three, four, five times before skittering to a stop on the opposite shore._ _Felix hesitated behind his brother. Glenn gave no indication he’d noticed Felix’s arrival. The older boy, fourteen, could be mean when he was in a bad mood, which usually led to Felix running off crying for the trouble of trying to make his brother feel better. Taking a deep breath, Felix made up his mind._

_“Ingrid says you’re a big meanie,” he informed his brother, taking a seat next to him, “and that she’s never gonna talk to you again unless you apologize.” Cold and wet seeped through the seat of his pants almost immediately._

_“Tch,” Glenn scoffed, chucking another stone. This one plunged to the depths of the pool with a_ sploosh _, rather than skipping like the rest had._

_“What did you do this time?” It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, Glenn doing or saying something that set Ingrid off, leaving Felix to play peacemaker. This time, however, she seemed especially upset. Her face had been bright red, like a tomato, angry tears spilling down her cheeks._

_Glenn hugged his knees to his chest, glaring out over the rippling water. “She saw me kissing some girl in town.”_

_“Oh,” was all Felix could think to say._ _Glenn had been engaged to Ingrid practically as soon as she’d been born, solidifying a contract between their two families. Ingrid, on her part, was infatuated with her fiance, following him around like a puppy. Glenn, Felix had come to learn, was less keen on the idea._

 _“Why shouldn’t I be allowed to kiss other girls?” he grouched, resting his chin on his knee and tearing at the damp grass idly. “It’s not like we’re married yet. And it’s not like_ I _wanted to marry her in first place.”_

_“Don’t you like Ingrid?”_

_Glenn shrugged. “Ingrid’s fine, I guess. But she’s a little kid.” Felix wanted to argue that ten wasn’t so little, but he knew from experience that Glenn disagreed wholeheartedly with that argument. “She’d understand if she were older,” he continued. “When she’s older, she can kiss whatever boys she wants. I won’t make a big deal about it.”_

_“What if Ingrid doesn’t want to kiss other boys when she’s older?”_

_Glenn rolled his eyes. “_ _Then she’s not gonna be very good at it when we’re married.” Felix’s brow furrowed, not sure what Glenn meant. “Kissing’s just like anything else. You have to practice a lot if you want to be good at it.”_

_Felix crinkled his nose. “What’s the big deal about kissing, anyway?” he wondered. “It doesn’t look very fun.”_

_This made Glenn laugh, a real genuine laugh. He reached over, ruffling Felix’s hair the way he knew the boy hated. “You’ll understand in a few years,” he assure him. With a sigh, he stood, hauling Felix up after him, and brushing grass and dirt off the seat of his pants. “Come on. Let’s get back so I can apologize to Ingrid. It would suck having to marry someone who won’t talk to me, after all.”_

_They returned, damp and cold from the mist, and Ingrid accepted Glenn’s insincere apology._


	5. Seeing Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix finds Sylvain.

The sun seemed to have stalled high in the sky, bearing relentlessly down on Felix as he continued his march down the dirt lane. He continued following signposts marked with simply carved hearts, the only information he’d been given on how to get to Court. At a few points, the road split off, pointing in all sorts of odd directions – Fhirdiad this way, Enbarr that way, Sreng to the left, Almyra to the right. One sign he passed gave him pause: Gautier. Would he find Sylvain down that road? He’d already seen several people he recognized, after all; Bernadetta and Lysithea hiding in the hidden alcove, the professor on the mushroom, Ingrid along the road.

The professor had told him to continue down the road he was on, he remembered. So, that’s they way he continued, hoping that it wouldn’t be much further along. The scant food and water he’d been given by Lysithea had done little to quell his hunger and thirst, especially under the cruel sun. Loathe as he was to do it, Felix finally ended up shedding his vest, leaving it hanging from a low tree branch. Sweat stuck his white undershirt to his chest and back, and he unfastened a couple buttons, feeling ridiculous as he did so, letting what small breeze flitted by cool his feverish skin.

This time, the clop of hooves didn’t make the ground tremble as though the earth itself was shifting under his feet. A swift gray horse approached from the direction Felix was headed, slowing to a stop before him. Ashe sat atop, familiar but for a different style to his silver hair. Its length was now combed back rather than left shaggy around his face, a lock of it tucked neatly behind his ear. The kind green eyes and dusting of light freckles over his earnest smile was just as they always were.

“Ah, Felix,” Ashe greeted, “what brings you here?”

“I’m trying to find someone,” Felix said flatly, already getting tired of repeating his story over and over again. “They’re headed to Court, and I need to get there.”

“I’ve just come from Court,” Ashe admitted. He gestured to a satchel slung over his shoulder. “I was asked to deliver some summons.”

“Can you take me there?” Felix asked, hopeful that he might finally be able to get off his feet.

Ashe frowned. “Unfortunately, I have to make all of my deliveries first. I don’t think I’ll be back before nightfall.” Felix huffed. “Although, if you don’t mind making one of my stops for me, I imagine the recipient would have no problem giving you a ride.” He started rifling through his bag, pulling out a thick envelope made of fine paper stock.

“I don’t have time to play errand boy-” he started to grump, when his eyes caught on the name on the envelope, written in the same loopy cursive that had been on the potion that shrunk him. _Sylvain Gautier_. He snatched the letter out of Ashe’s outstretched hand. “Sylvain’s being summoned to Court?”

“Mm-hmm. It’s not far to Gautier from here.”

“Yeah,” Felix muttered, “I saw the road a little while back.”

“So you’ll do it?”

Felix turned the envelope over in his hand. It was sealed with fine crimson wax, the insignia that of a flame with a heart burning in the center. “I suppose,” he sighed.

Ashe’s face lit up. “Thank you so much, Felix.” He held out a hand to Felix once more. “The least I can do is give you a ride back down the road, since it’s on the way.” Felix took his hand and let himself be helped up into the saddle behind Ashe.

His feet practically sang in relief. Felix had never been much for horseback riding, but it was much preferable to long marches on foot. While it had been nearly an hour by Felix’s estimation since he passed the road marked Gautier, it took only minutes to return to the spot on the back of Ashe’s horse. Reluctantly, Felix climbed down. Ashe bid him good luck and continued down the road.

The road that stretched before him was shaded, much to Felix’s relief. Tall fir trees, so wide around that it would take three men to encircle them with their arms, blocked out the bright sky. It was reminiscent of the roads of northern Gautier that were cut clean through dense forests. So familiar that Felix could practically hear the howls of the timber wolves prowling through the underbrush, ready to ambush the unprepared traveler. Birds called from the shelter of the pine trees, and somewhere in the distance Felix could just make out the bubbling of a small brook. He was tempted to veer of the path in search of water to quench his parched throat, but the risk of getting lost kept him on the road, twisting deeper and deeper into the heart of the forest.

 _Cold bit at Felix’s nose, familiar and unpleasant in equal measure. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, pressing against Glenn’s back even as his eyes raked the snow-swept mountainside forest._ _Ancient s_ _now-capped firs towered toward the slate sky._ _The silence of the forest was oppressive, almost suffocating, broken by entreating voices._ _The sway of their horse_ _was almost comforting as it clopped_ _along slowly, pick_ _ing_ _its way d_ _own_ _a potentially perilous path._

_The frigid winter air wasn’t the only reason ice crept through Felix’s veins, wasn’t why Felix shivered uncontrollably, tears freezing to his cheeks even as he attempted to subtly wipe them away on the back of Glenn’s cloak._

_“Sylvain!” a chorus of voices around them called, each from atop a horse, each diligently scanning the white around them. “_ _Sylvain!”_

_Felix sniffled. “We’ll find him, Fe.” There was a hard edge to his brother’s voice, as frigid as the forest around them. “He’s okay.” Still, he spurred the horse to go a little faster. "You should drink some water."_

_Felix took a small swig at his brother's behest, just enough that the magic tonic that was infused in the water lit a small flutter of warmth in his chest, like the flame of a small nub of a candle, staving off the cold just for a moment. Even the small sip sat heavy in his stomach. Sylvain's water skin had been clipped to his horse when they found it. He could imagine Sylvain, trembling with the cold, curled in around himself in an attempt to keep warm without the magic to do it for him. If Sylvain was cold, Felix would be cold too. It did not escape Felix's notice that Glenn's water skin was untouched at his hip as well._

_The idea to go hunting on the mountainside had been their fathers’. Conditions were favorable for hunting large game, and the cold was practically mild for that time of year, that far north. It was a good opportunity for survival training, they’d insisted. So, with a small troop of soldiers, Felix, Glenn, Sylvain, and Miklan were sent away._

_They hadn’t wandered far apart, but it was far enough that when an unexpected snowstorm hit and forced them to hunker down, they were separated for several hours, unable to see more than a few inches before them through the thick snow._

_When it finished, Glenn and Felix reunited with Miklan, but Sylvain was nowhere to be found. The older_ _Gautier_ _boy_ seemed _concerned, insisting they’d been separated before the storm hit, that he’d been searching for him when he was forced to take shelter._ _Felix had learned long ago, however, that Miklan was a liar. He’d say just about anything if it meant avoiding punishment._

_Glenn gave him a black eye for his trouble._

_They had been searching for Sylvain for nearly two hours, and it would be getting dark soon. If they couldn’t find Sylvain before nightfall, he would almost certainly freeze to death before daylight. The thought set a fresh wave of tears rolling down Felix’s cheeks, and he hiccuped in his attempt to swallow down a pitiful sob._

_Wiping snot on the edge of his cloak and blinking away a blur of tears, Felix saw it. A swath of red against the endless white, a scarf wound around a tree. “There!” he cried. Glenn pulled the reins, bringing the horse to an abrupt halt, eyes following where Felix pointed. The soldiers closed around them as Glenn dismounted the horse in a single, swift movement. Felix scrambled after him._

_His skin felt like solid ice, even in his finest winter hunting gear, and the sudden movement after so long on horseback sent pinpricks of fire stabbing his numb body as he raced through the thigh-high snow, wading as best as he could through the trail left in Glenn’s wake._

_“Sylvain!” Glenn called, hands cupped around his mouth. His voice echoed through the trees, and got no answer. They reached the tree the scarf was tied to, frozen stiff and unmoving in the biting wind. It was undoubtedly Sylvain’s, the fine red cloth embroidered with gold thread in the image of the Crest of Gautier. Sylvain hated the thing, and had brought it on their hunting trip in the hopes it would somehow be lost or ruined. “Sylvain, where are you?” If Sylvain could hear their calls, they could not hear his response._

_They fanned out, searching through the snow for any further sign of the missing boy. Felix found the mound of stone by accident. It had been completely covered in snow, and he he’d attempted to kick through it only to bash his shin against solid rock. Glenn appeared in an instant at Felix’s cries._

_His blue eyes were narrowed into slits as he regarded the buried pile of rock. Just for a moment before he started digging, gloved hands shoveling snow away as fast as he was able. Felix followed suit without pausing to wonder why._

_After a moment of digging, the wall of snow crumbled away, revealing a hollowed alcove beneath. A pale, blue-lipped, and shivering Sylvain blinked at the sudden light, and Felix wept._

As he walked, Felix got the paranoid sensation that he was being watched, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. He kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, ears strained for any sort of sound that might suggest he was being followed. There was nothing but the call of birds and the trickle of a stream. He didn’t dare glance back over his shoulder, lest his potential pursuer realize he was getting suspicious. If there was anyone there, they didn’t make a move.

He didn’t have to walk too terribly long before the trees broke, apparently now on the other side of the forest. As he drew closer, Felix was able to see a stone building rise up before him. It was if someone had taken the imposing fortress of Castle Gautier, stripped away the towering walls that defended it, and shrunk it down to the side of a normal house. Rather than the guard house, training hall, and stable that Felix was familiar seeing upon entering the keep’s courtyard, there was just a simple vegetable garden, a paddock with a lazy horse munching on thin grass (as opposed to the muscular war mounts House Gautier usually owned), and a simple well.

A well Felix was familiar with. The same one stood on Castle Gautier grounds, and Felix had many memories of playing around it as a child. That had stopped when Felix was seven, after Sylvain ‘fell in.’ Much later, he confided in Felix that Miklan had pushed him, but Sylvain lied and said he fell. Sylvain was always lying about Miklan’s bullying, begging his friends to do the same, unwilling to let his brother get in well-deserved trouble.

Felix practically collapsed by the well, cranking the handle with exhausted arms to lower the bucket down, down, down until he heard it splash, before hauling it back up, up, up. He practically drowned himself trying to drink as much of the cool, earthy water as he could get down his throat. What spilled over the edge of the bucket felt heavenly on his heated skin.

Thirst finally quenched, Felix stood again and turned back toward the miniature Castle Gautier. Hopefully, if Sylvain was in there, he would have something more filling to eat than a lump of stale bread.

Felix knocked loudly on the thick wooden door, but got no answer. Pressing his ear to the wood, he could hear quite the ruckus inside, crying and shouting. He tried knocking again, pounding loudly so as to be heard over the noise, but no one answered. Hesitating for just a second, he tried the knob; it was unlocked, and Felix let himself in.

He was unprepared for the sight that greeted him inside. Seemingly dozens of small, redheaded children rushed about, pushing and shoving at each other. Some seemed older, nine or ten, boys and girls alike based on their clothes. Some were younger, toddlers that wobbled uneasily on their feet, trying to keep up with the older kids. A woman in a rocking chair cradled a couple of small children, each perhaps a year or two, gazing out the window and ignoring them as the wailed. Felix could just see the swell of her pregnant belly.

Sylvain sat by the fireplace in an armchair, holding a baby that couldn’t have been more than six months, staring forlornly at the child. Like the others he’d seen, Sylvain was recognizable, but different. The lines of his face were sharper, his shoulders and chest more broad. The casual, lighthearted grace Felix was routinely annoyed with was absent, replaced with something more serious, something darker. “Sylvain?”

The man sighed deeply, not tearing his eyes away from the baby. “Felix.”

“What’s with all the children?” Felix couldn’t stop himself from asking, still staring around at the mob kids with the peculiar shade of Gautier red hair.

Sylvain laughed, a harsh, bitter thing. “Crazy, right? I was born for one thing, and I can’t even get _that_ right.”

Felix’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“You know how it is, Felix,” he sighed, slumping back in his chair. “I’m nothing more than a stud horse, remember?” Felix’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. “Marry a woman from a rich family and pump out crest babies to carry on the Crest of Gautier.”

Felix glanced around at the mass of children again, brow furrowed. “Crestless?” he muttered in disbelief. “ _All_ of them?” As if that was the important thing.

Sylvain laughed that horrible, un-Sylvain laugh again. “All of them.” He studied the dejected, strange Sylvain. The man couldn’t be more than twenty-five or twenty-six. How could he possibly have so many children? The oldest of which had to be at least twelve. Sure, Sylvain was a skirt-chaser who had a different girl warm his bed on any given night, but if he’d fathered any bastards, it wasn’t like the mother was going to keep that information to herself. “Why are you here, Felix?” Sylvain wondered, sounding tired.

Felix blinked, his mission momentarily forgotten. “Right,” he huffed, handing over the letter. “This is for you. You’ve been summoned to Court.”

Sylvain’s brow furrowed as he took the letter. “Here, hold this,” he muttered, pressing the baby into Felix’s hands before Felix could protest. Felix held the child at arm’s length, chilled by Sylvain’s uncaring use of _this_ in reference to the baby. Not him or her. _This_. Sylvain ripped open the letter, silent as he read.

He sighed heavily again, pushing to his feet and heading for the door without another word. “Wait,” Felix called after him, searching for somewhere to put the baby. “Hold on, you need to take me-” His voice died in his throat as he turned the baby around in his hands, finally getting a look at its face…

Or, rather, where its face _should_ have been. He nearly dropped the child in surprise. There were no eyes. No eyebrows. No nostrils. No mouth. Just a smooth, unbroken expanse of skin dusted with golden freckles. He could see the valleys and ridges where those features _should_ have been, but they were just absent.

Confused and more than a little queasy, Felix bent to get a look at the other children as they ran past. His blood went cold in his veins as he realized _none_ of the children had faces, though that didn’t stop them from laughing and screaming and crying.

By the time Felix recovered from his shock, Sylvain had disappeared. Felix rushed to the window in time to see Sylvain speeding off down the lane on the back of his horse, and he cursed. Well, there was nothing to be done about it now.

Felix turned to the woman, who he presumed was somehow the mother. “Why don’t your children have faces?” She didn’t answer, just continued rocking in her chair and ignoring her crying babies. “Hey.” He walked over to her, and she spared him a glance. He found he wasn’t too surprised to see she lacked a face as well. Wordlessly, she offered out her arms around the squirming children that clambered over her, and he placed the baby in her care.

With his hopes of getting a ride dashed, Felix decided he could at least try and find something to eat. He pushed through a door that stood opposite of the front door, and found himself in a large kitchen. Impossibly, more faceless children sat on benches around a wooden table, absently picking at bowls of soup without actually eating (how do faceless children even eat?).

A man stood stirring a large cauldron that bubbled with boiling soup, and for a wild second, Felix thought it was Sylvain. He had the same shaggy red hair and broad shoulders. But, no, he was too tall, and far more broad than Sylvain had been. No… “Miklan?”

The man turned around. And just like the children, Miklan was faceless too, his only defining feature a jagged, puckered scar crossing from his right temple down to his left cheek. Even without eyes, he seemed to regard Felix with disdain, scowling without expression. After a moment, he returned to stirring the soup. Wanting away from whatever madness was happening inside the miniature Castle Gautier, Felix picked up an abandoned bowl of soup and went back the way he came, pausing just long enough to pluck a couple of carrots from the garden before continuing his endless walk once again.

This time, as he walked, he was certain he was being followed.


	6. Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix confronts his stalker and ends up taking a detour

The sun was finally starting to sink low in the sky, and there was a chill in the wind that whispered through the forest of ancient firs. Felix sipped his stolen soup and munched on his stolen carrots as he walked, feigning an air of unconcerned nonchalance. Whoever was following him moved almost impossibly fast and silent, skirting from tree to tree behind Felix. Felix couldn’t see them, just a small blur of movement in his peripheral.

Felix bid his time, watching his follower from the corner of his eye, tracking the nearly imperceptible blur as it darted from one tree to the next, learning its patterns. Feeling like he had it figured out after a time, Felix stepped off to the side of the path, the shadow slinking to a stop and disappearing from sight. No matter. Felix sat down his empty bowl and rounded a tree to relive himself – partially out of need, and partially so his stalker wouldn’t grow suspicious.

Finished, Felix started walking again, keeping to the edge of the road, seeing what the stalker would do. Sure enough, once Felix was moving again, it resumed its pursuit. Felix kept track in his head, predicting where they would go next, hand on the hilt of his sword.

Felix reacted in a flash, drawing his sword and spinning to where his follower was going to appear next. Claude von Riegan grinned at him, even with the point of Felix's blade pressed again his exposed throat, hanging upside down from the branch of the tree, his arms resting casually behind his head.

The line of Claude's jaw was more prominent than the version Felix knew, more defined under a well-kept beard. The braid he wore was gone, replaced by long, slightly curling strands of hair. His knowing, disarming smile was the same as ever, jade eyes seeming to absorb even the slightest of details. Most stark, however, were the golden cat ears that protruded from his mop of curls, and the matching tail that swished lazily behind him. So far, he was the only other person besides Glenn that he'd found sporting some animal appendages.

"Von Riegan," Felix huffed, lowering his blade and slipping it back into his sheath.

"Felix."

"Why have you been following me?"

Before his eyes, Claude seemed to vanish into thin air, melting into vapor. Felix spun around, and a heavy arm fell over his shoulder as Claude reappeared beside him, still grinning. "Your face is intriguing," he admitted.

Felix wasn't sure whether he wanted to punch him or stab him. "My face?"

Claude grabbed his chin, turning his head this way and that to get a good look before Felix shrugged him off. "You've still got your old one."

Felix's brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Claude laughed. "You've seen some of our dear friends already, haven't you?" Felix nodded. "Surely you had to have noticed some differences."

"Of course," he snapped. "Goddess, nothing here makes sense."

"It makes perfect sense," Claude argued. "If you stop thinking about it."

Felix glared at him. "You're infuriating," he huffed, continuing down the path without bothering to see if Claude was following him or not.

"Maybe you're just furious," Claude countered, following behind Felix at a leisurely pace.

"Because you’re infuriating. It's the same thing."

"I don't think it's the same thing at all," Claude laughed.

Always playing word games. There was a reason Felix had never had much patience for the duke-to-be. "Why do you have the stupid cat ears, anyway?"

Claude tugged on one thoughtfully. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Why do you think I have them?"

"If I knew, I wouldn't have asked."

"Fair enough." He was silent for a moment. "Let's see... how am I like a cat, do you suppose?"

"I don't know," he huffed, not in the mood for riddles.

"Well, if I had to guess, I'd say because I'm sneaky and mysterious."

"Or annoying."

Claude ignored his jab with an easy smile. "Now, maybe I'm going crazy, but I recall seeing a guy who looks an awful lot like you with some interesting ears of his own."

"My brother," Felix said tightly, not quite sure why he was bothering with an explanation. "He died four years ago. I saw him earlier with the rabbit ears, but he ran away from me, and I've been trying to find him since."

"To lose ones brother is a tragedy," Claude mused, the uncanny smile not wavering in the slightest. "To lose ones brother twice seems a bit careless."

Anger welled in Felix's chest, and he rounded on Claude, fully intending to punch him in his stupid, annoying mouth. Instead, Felix's hand sailed through empty air, Claude nowhere to be seen. When Felix turned back around, Claude stood just a few feet up the path, grinning as if nothing had happened. Scowling, Felix kept walking.

"Say, have you gone to visit His Princliness yet?"

"I don't care about the boar," Felix growled. "I'm trying to find my brother."

"Sure, sure," Claude dismissed. "Really, though, I think the visit will be worth your time. He's not far from Court, you know. Just a small detour."

"I'm done with detours." Felix paused. He just wanted this whole thing to be over with, wanted to return to where everything was normal and made sense. "How did you know I was headed to Court?"

Claude winked. "Now, call it a cat's instincts, but I think you'll have better luck finding your brother if you go see Dimitri first."

Felix sighed. He supposed it couldn't hurt. "Fine. Then where is the boar?"

Claude disappeared again, just for a moment before Felix could feel the air stir behind him. The man pressed close to Felix, chest-to-back, arms draping over Felix's shoulders. His breath was hot against Felix's ear when he whispered, "Take a left when you find the road marked Madness."

Felix's brow furrowed, and he spun around in Claude's grasp. "Madness?" But Claude was already gone, the only thing left in his place was his infuriating, grin, floating eerily in midair. Eventually, that too faded away, and Felix was alone once again. When he started walking again, he found he was already back on the main road.

_“_ _I don’t have time to play with you, Felix,” Glenn huffed, pausing in his training just long enough to tuck a stay strand of hair behind his ear. “Go away.” Standing across from him, Dimitri shot Felix a sheepish look, a training sword clutched tight in his hand._

_Felix pouted, feeling the prickle of tears behind his eyes. “Why can’t I train with you and Dima?” Glenn ignored him, focusing on his his footwork as he ran through the first drill he was instructing Dimitri in._

_“Oh, don’t cry, Felix!” Dimitri begged, his big, blue eyes full of concern. He moved to comfort his friend, like he always did, and Glenn finally stopped, turning to look at the two twelve year old_ _boys_ _._

_“Did I tell you that you could have a break, Your Highness?” he snapped, putting a hand on his hip like a stern instructor. Dimitri froze, hand still outstretched toward Felix. “_ _If you think you have time to be slacking off, then why don’t you show me that drill? Go on.” Dimitri hesitated, glancing between the two of them. “Now, Your Highness. And don’t you dare stop until I say so.”_

_Reluctantly, Dimitri complied, falling into stance in front of the training dummy and copying the movements they’d been practicing. Glenn rounded back on Felix, whose cheeks were already streaked with tears, mostly out of frustration. It had been like this since Glenn was knighted the year before. He was always snapping at Felix, always irritable and impatient with the boy._

_“And you,” he growled at his brother once he was sure Dimitri was going to do as he was told. “I told you to go away. You’re distracting His Highness.”_

_Felix sniffled, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. “I just wanted to train with you, too.”_

_Glenn rolled his eyes. “You don’t always get to have your way. Stop being such a brat.” A small sob escaped Felix’s lips, and Dimitri froze at the sound, stumbling and sending his sword clattering against the floor. Flushing pink, the prince scrambled to scoop up his sword and get back to work before Glenn could scold him._

_With a glare at Felix, Glenn returned his sword to the weapon rack and grabbed his brother by the collar, dragging him out of the training hall even as the boy wailed. “Y-y-you’re so mean, Gl-glenn!”_

_Glenn was unfazed, and he bent down to look Felix in the eye. “Stop crying. I don’t train with crybabies.” Which, of course, just make Felix cry harder._ _Shaking his head, Glenn headed back into the training hall, the door slamming behind him, leaving Felix a bawling mess._

Madness was marked by a lopsided, ramshackle sign, the name barely legible between the sloppy writing and chipping paint. As instructed, Felix turned to the left. The road winded and wandered aimlessly, uneven and full of potholes. Worse, the farther along the path Felix walked, the more he was convinced the murmur of the wind in the trees was filled with _actual_ voices, soft whispers and dark mumbles that he couldn’t quite make out, no matter how much he strained to hear.

The road ended abruptly at the base of a hill, and the wind stilled just as quick. The silence was eerie, uncomfortable. If Claude was to be believed, the boar was supposedly lurking around somewhere, and Felix decided to use the hill to get a better vantage point. From the top, it didn’t take long to find the boar.

Just on the other side, a table like those in the monastery’s dining hall was set for tea, two looming figures sitting alone on opposite benches. They were immediately recognizable; there was no mistaking the blond hair of the boar and the white hair of his lapdog, Dedue.

Felix picked his way down the hill carefully, appraising the two figures as he made a slow approach. Of all the strange faces he’d seen, so familiar yet so different, these two seemed the most foreign to Felix. Dedue’s face was marred with scars, the origins of which Felix couldn’t even begin to guess. His white hair was still pulled back in a simple tail, but the sides cropped close to his scalp, leaving only the top long.

The sight of the boar gave Felix pause. He’d grown considerably, easily taller than even Sylvian. His chest and shoulders were far more broad, though his frame seemed almost malnourished. His hair, once perfectly groomed and shiny like spun gold, hung long and lank around his face, wild and unwashed. One of his brilliant blue eyes was covered with a dirty black eye patch.

“What happened to you, boar?” Felix huffed, coming to a stop behind Dedue. The tea on the table, set for five, was untouched.

Dimitri slowly turned his head to look at Felix, his one remaining eye glassy and unfocused. The anger that Felix known lurked under the surface, barely contained by his facade of the proper prince, was on full display, and it nearly sent a shiver down Felix’s spine to see the icy stare rake him up and down.

“Felix,” he growled, almost remorseful. “So you’ve come to haunt me as well.” He bowed his head, scowling at the table. “Glenn, forgive me for allowing Felix to join us.” Felix glanced around, confused. Glenn was nowhere to be seen. A scarred fist knotted into Dimitri’s filthy hair, like he was trying to pull it from his head – which, wouldn’t have been too hard with his unnatural strength – teeth gritted together and eye squeezed close. “I’m sorry, Glenn. Please, I swear I will avenge him.”

“What are you talking about, Boar?” Felix demanded, slamming a hand down on the table. “Glenn’s not here. I’m not dead.”

“Mother,” the boar choked, continuing on as if he hadn't heard Felix, “Father, Glenn, Felix… I promise you, I _will_ have that woman’s head!” The words coming from the boar’s mouth were utter nonsense. What woman? Who was Dimitri talking to? It certainly wasn’t he or Dedue, and Glenn and his parents weren’t there.

“Your Highness,” Dedue prompted, in that gentle yet firm way he had. “Felix is no ghost.”

Dimitri’s eye snapped up to them, slitted, darting back and forth as he considered Dedue’s words. “You can see him as well, can you?” Dedue nodded. The boar’s shoulders relaxed then, the pained scowl smoothing to more of a cold, resigned fury. “I see. Why have you come, then, Felix?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, crossing his arms. Claude had insisted the detour would be worth his time, that it would bring him closer to finding Glenn, but he failed to see how. This Dimitri had clearly lost his mind, seeing ghosts and unable to tell reality from delusion. “Who were you talking about? Who’s head are you after?”

Dimitri gritted his teeth. “She will pay for what she’s done,” he growled, not answering the question.

“Right. But _who_?”

Before he could get his answer, Dimitri and Dedue tensed, glancing around with narrowed eyes, listening. Felix listened to, and he could just make out the clanging of armor, the fall of hooves on the soft earth. It was unmistakable, the sound of an approaching army.

Dimitri moved, lighting fast, and the point of a lance pressed threateningly against Felix’s jugular. The thing was disgusting, stained with dried blood and viscera, rusting in places from lack of care. Dimitri stared him down like the wild beast he was, like he was a moment from ripping Felix’s throat out and leaving him for dead. “You’ve brought them here, haven’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” he hissed, not daring to make any sudden moves.

“To think you would betray me, Felix.” If Felix didn’t know any better, he would have almost thought the boar was saddened by the idea, underneath the rage that burned in his frigid blue eye. “You would betray me for _her_.”

“I haven’t betrayed you,” he spat. “I didn’t bring anyone here. I don’t even know who you’re talking about!”

The point of the lance bit into his skin, drawing a prickle of blood, and for a moment, Felix was sure he was going to die choking on his own blood. Then Dimitri paused, head turning slowly to the side, like he was listening to someone speak. He let out a low, guttural sound, like the snarl of a wild animal before lowering his lance. “For Glenn’s sake, I will not end your life.”

There was no time to ask what that was supposed to mean before the advancing army broke the line of trees that surrounded them. Dimitri whipped around, lance at the ready to fight. Dedue hefted a large axe. Out of reflex, Felix drew his sword, spinning around to get a look at their opponents.

The soldiers donned armor accented in red, the same flaming heart symbol that had been on the summons for Sylvain etched into their breastplates, the metal gleaming in the late afternoon sun. Orders that Felix couldn’t quite hear were barked, and they surged forward.

The clash of metal on metal was familiar as the three of them worked to fend off their attackers. They were horribly outnumbered, though from what Felix could see out of the corner of his eye, the boar was practically a one-man battalion, tearing the enemy soldiers apart both with his lance and with his bare hands until he was drenched in their blood. It was nauseating, and not remotely unexpected..

Felix did his best to hold his ground, slicing through his foes with clean, precise swings of his sword. But Felix was still injured from the mage before, his chest screaming in protest with every movement, and he was exhausted from walking all day. Still, he kept pushing through, gritting his teeth against the pain and fatigue.

The blow to the back of his head caught him off guard, and he crumpled to his knees, the edges of the world already growling blurry. Even as the details started fading away, Felix was blearily aware that the boar, terrifying and deadly as he was, was becoming overwhelmed by the sheer number of soldiers that assailed them. The last thing Felix saw was Dimitri being dragged to his knees, arms twisted behind his back as a half dozen soldiers held him in place. Then the world went black.


	7. A Moment of Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix considers his situation.

_Felix was pouting, not an unusual occurrence in Castle Fraldarius. He shut himself in his room, sitting abject at his desk and lamely pushing around an army of finely carved toy knights, coming out only for his meals and his lessons. Glenn had returned to Fhirdiad shortly after their ‘tiff,’ as their father called it, and Felix couldn’t help but think_ good riddance.

_It was about a moon and a half before he returned. Though he was a knight and had many duties in Fhirdiad, he was also still heir to House Fraldarius, and had duties in his homeland as well, which had him splitting his time between the two territories._

_Felix could see the commotion in the courtyard below from his window. He rode in on a chestnut courser, wrapped in a royal blue cloak that stood stark against the frosted cobblestone. Though it was late spring, the thaw had yet to come, winter’s chill hanging on particularly stubbornly._ _Felix watched, sulking, as Glenn hopped down from his horse with a grace he himself had yet to master, his long, dark braid whipping around him. He spoke briefly to the stable boy who ran out to collect his horse, untying a knapsack from the saddle and slinging it over his shoulder before he disappeared inside._

_Felix returned to his toys._

_About an hour passed before the door to his room opened with a creak, and he didn’t have to look to know it was Glenn; he was the only one rude enough to enter without knocking – and could pick a lock as good as any common thief, even if Felix wanted to keep him out._

_“You didn’t run down to see me, Fe,” he noted as he crossed the room silently. Felix ignored him, keeping his head cradled in his arms on his desk, still grumpily commanding wooden soldiers. A calloused hand pressed against his forehead, like mother used to do. “You feeling alright?”_

_Felix swated his hand away with a huff. “Go away.”_

_“Dad said you’ve been in a rotten mood.” He knelt down next to Felix’s chair, leaning on the desk and craning his neck to try and see Felix’s face. “Would a bout of training cheer you up?”_

_Felix shot him a sidelong glare. “I don’t wanna train with you anymore.”_

_“And why’s that?” he laughed._

_“‘Cause you’re a big jerk.”_

_“That’s never stopped you before.” He nudged Felix playfully, and Felix scooted his chair away. “Are you still mad about before?”_

_“You called me a crybaby. And a brat.”_

_Glenn sighed, but he was still smiling. Patient Glenn, as opposed to Irritable Glenn. He put a hand on Felix’s shoulder, and refused to let him go even as Felix attempted to shake him off. “I’m sorry.”_

_“No you’re not.”_

_“I am,” he insisted. “I was frustrated,_ _and I took it out on you. You know how I get sometimes.”_

_“Mean.” Glenn rolled his eyes, but it was good-natured rather than annoyed. “You sounded like Dad.”_

_Glenn’s smiled dropped then, eyes taking a somber turn. “I suppose I did, didn’t I?” Felix felt tears prickle in the corners of his eyes against his will, remembering all the times he’s heard similar things. “Hey, hey,” Glenn shushed, wiping away the first tear to fall with a gentle thumb. “Don’t cry, it’s okay. It's okay. I know you get frustrated and overwhelmed sometimes and you can’t help it.” Felix hiccuped. “Can I tell you a secret?”_

_“I guess.”_

_“It’s okay to cry, Fe.” Felix blinked in surprise, finally turning to stare at Glenn. “No matter what Dad says. But maybe you can work on saving your tears on something worth crying over, yeah?”_

_He considered this. “Like when Mom died…” It was the only time he’d ever seen Glenn cry._

_Glenn smiled sadly. “Yeah. Losing someone you love is a good reason to cry. Let me tell you another secret.” He leaned in to whisper conspiratorially in Felix’s ear. “Even Dad cried when Mom died.”_

_Felix blinked. “He did?” He’d certainly never seen that._

_Glenn nodded solemnly. “Only when he was alone. I saw him when he thought no one was around.” Felix tried to imagine it, but failed. Felix had only been five when their mother passed, Glenn nine. Through the whole thing, their father had remained stony faced and stoic, his eyes like the glum, overcast skies that hung over Fraldarius in the weeks after it happened, even the heavens themselves mourning. Glenn nudged Felix’s shoulder lightly, pulling him out of his thoughts. “So, come on. Come train with your big jerk of a brother. I’ll kick your butt and_ give _you something to cry about.”_

_Felix laughed, despite himself, wiping away the wet trails on his cheeks with the back of his sleeve. “Not if I kick yours first!”_

When Felix woke, head throbbing with a splitting headache, the first thing he noticed were the gentle fingers that combed though his hair, soothing over his scalp. He was vaguely aware of the soft hum of some slow melody swirling around him, and he was reminded of the times in his childhood when his mother would cradle a crying Felix tight to her chest and sing softly until the tears ran dry. His father would scold her for coddling him, believing she was going to make him too soft, but she was not a woman to be dissuaded from doing anything just because it annoyed her husband.

Felix finally managed to peel his eyes open some time later, blinking as the world swam into focus in the low light of nearby torches. The ceiling above him was made of gray, rough-hewn stone, thick and oppressive. A damp mustiness permeated the air, only serving to add to the claustrophobic, suffocating atmosphere.

Watching over him with his head cradled in her lap was Annette, familiar but different just like everyone else he’d been. Gone were her bangs and loops of red hair that lent to her youthful, carefree appearance. Instead, her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, though her bright green eyes were the same as ever, kind and warm.

“Oh, Felix,” she cooed, “you’re finally awake. I was worried the bump to your head might have done some serious damage.”

“I told you he was going to be fine, Annie,” the soft voice of Mercedes said from somewhere close by. “You worry too much.”

Felix strained to sit up, but the pounding in his skull set a wave of nausea coursing through him when he tried, and he fell back into Annette’s lap with a pained gasp. “Don’t push yourself, Felix,” Annette warned, her hands resting on his shoulders as if she intended to keep him held in place if he decided to try again. “You should rest for a little bit.”

“Ugh,” he groaned, reluctantly relaxing against her. “Where are we?” His voice was raspy, throat parched and painful. He heard shuffling and a small splash, then Mercedes appeared in his view. Annette gently lifted his head and Mercedes pressed a wooden cup to his lips. The water was stale and warm, but he gulped it down greedily. When the cup was empty, he spared a glance at Mercedes. Her hair, once so long and fluffy, was cut into a short bob and hidden under a floppy hat, a thin veil hanging down behind her.

“We’re in the dungeon’s below the Empress of Hearts’ palace,” Annette explained, though her explanation made very little sense to Felix.

“Why?”

“She summoned us to Court,” Mercedes said. “We’ve been waiting until she’s ready for us, though I’m not too sure how long it’s been.”

Felix’s heart skipped painfully in his chest, and he forced himself upright, despite the girls’ protests. He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes against the pain and nausea, and slowly they passed. When he managed to open his eyes once again, he saw that, sure enough, the rough-hewn stone room was a cell. One wall was made of thick, rusted iron bars. A thin mattress was shoved against the back wall, stained with years of bodily fluids unknown. One corner housed a bucket for waste. Another bucket in the opposite corner held water. “Why did she lock you up if she summoned you to Court?”

They exchanged a look. “Well, we’re to be on trial for our crimes against the Empire,” Annette said slowly.

His brow furrowed. “What crimes?”

“Annie,” Mercedes muttered, “look at him. The poor dear doesn’t know yet. It’s not our place to tell him.”

He glanced between the two of them. “Tell me what?” he demanded, crossing his arms. “What’s going on?”

“Felix,” Annette said evenly, “there are some things you just aren’t meant to know.”

“Why can’t anyone just give me a straight answer around here?” he shouted, making the two of them start at his sudden outburst. “I’ve met nearly a dozen different people down here, and not one of you will tell me anything that actually makes sense. What’s going on?”

The two of them exchanged a long look. “Well, what do you _think_ is going on?” Mercedes asked evenly, her tone like he was a skittish animal she was trying to soothe. Felix huffed. It was something he’d been avoiding thinking about, he realized, though whether he was doing it intentionally or not was up in the air. “What brought you here in the first place?”

“Our class was fighting bandits,” he recounted. “It was supposed to be a simple fight, but our estimates of their numbers were way too low. We got swarmed, and I was cut off from the rest of the class. Before the professor could get someone over to help me, I was hit by a mage’s spell and fell unconscious. When I woke, everyone was gone. None of you were there, no bandits, no knights. There was only one other person. My brother. He jumped down into a well and I followed him. This place is somehow the bottom of the well”

Annette cocked her head to the side. “Isn’t your brother dead?”

“Yeah. Well, I thought so. But he was there, with rabbit ears for some reason.” They nodded slowly, as if that was a perfectly reasonable detail.

“So,” Mercedes prompted, “thinking through all of that, what logical conclusion can you come to?”

Felix swallowed hard, pressing a hand to his chest. He could feel his heart beating, just the same as ever. Though the head injury was the far more pressing pain, his wound from the mage still throbbed dully, each breath aching. The logical conclusion…

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” he asked, voice hollow. He supposed he should have been more upset by the concept, but he mostly just felt numb, apathetic. "That mage's spell killed me."

“Hmm…” Mercedes mused, looking over him with pensive eyes. “No, I don’t think so. Not yet.”

Not yet… “So, what? I’m still laying in that field, dying?” He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. “All of this is some… deathbed dream?”

“I can’t say for sure,” Annette admitted, twirling a strand of her hair around a slim finger. “But maybe you can find your way back. If you’re not dead yet, then maybe it’s not set in stone.”

He rubbed his aching temple. Annette was optimistic as ever, it seemed, though Felix wasn’t sure he shared her sentiment. He thought of the battlefield he’d left behind, about his body bleeding out, face-down in the muck. Was his class still fighting? Stepping over him as they struggled to fight back the bandits, the battle too chaotic to spare the time necessary to heal him?

Would he die there, then? Would the girls cry over him? Would Sylvain? Or the boar? Surely his body would be sent back to Fraldarius to be buried beside Glenn’s corpse-less casket. House Fraldarius would be left without an heir. Would his father honor his death, glorify it like he had Glenn’s? _He died like a true knight._ Would it be written off as the will of the Goddess?

He sighed. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. If he died, he wouldn’t care about any of that nonsense; the dead can’t want or feel or care about anything. If he lived, it was moot.

The sound of footsteps on the flagstone floor drew their attention. Three armed guards in red-accented armor – the same as the knights that attacked him and the boar before – came to a stop in front of the cell. One unlocked the door, the rusted iron groaning in protest as it was heaved open. “Her Majesty, the Empress of Hearts requires your presence,” one of the men demanded.

Annette and Mercedes rose gracefully to their feet, sweeping dirt from their skirts. Felix attempted to clamber up after them, but pain lanced through his skull like he’d been shot through with an arrow and he staggered, the room spinning under his feet. The girls caught him in deft arms, helping steady him.

Together, they followed the guards from the cell and up out of the dungeon into the opulent palace above.


End file.
